I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset last month – we’d packed the car to bursting with kids’ beach toys, cool bags stuffed with picnic leftovers, and enough snacks to feed a small army. My husband was navigating via his phone, swearing under his breath (well, almost) as we hit a massive tailback just past Bristol. Turned out some sheep had decided the M5 was prime grazing territory, and there we were, stuck for half an hour with the kids chanting “Are we there yet?” from the back. Classic family holiday start, innit? But as we finally peeled off towards Brent Knoll, the tension melted away – rolling green hills unfolding like a postcard, and that proper Somerset sunshine breaking through the clouds. I was buzzing with anticipation, picturing lazy days ahead.

Pulling up to the cottage, my first impressions were spot on. It’s this cosy, traditional spot that feels like a hug – all welcoming and lived-in, perfect for our little tribe. Centrally located to nearby Cheddar Gorge as well as to the festival town of Glastonbury and the cathedral city of Wells, the property couldn’t be better placed; with the cosmopolitan city of Bristol and historical city of Bath within easy reach as well. Just ten minutes drive away is the seaside town of Weston Super Mare, where its sprawling stretch of sand and calm waters offer visitors ample opportunity for bucket and spade days or long beach walks. We tumbled out, bags everywhere, and the kids immediately claimed the garden as their kingdom, racing about with whoops of joy.

Our days slipped into this blissful rhythm of cottage life chaos – the sort that’s messy but magic. Mornings kicked off with brekkie on the patio, me burning the toast while the little ones smeared jam on everything in sight. We’d pile into the car for Weston-super-Mare, just a quick hop away, where the beach became our playground. The kids dug epic sandcastles (that promptly collapsed in hilarious slow-motion), and we adults flopped on towels, paddling in the gentle waves. One afternoon, a seagull nicked my husband’s pasty right out of his hand – cue much flapping and laughter as he chased it down the sand. Pure comedy gold.

Venturing to Cheddar Gorge was a highlight – that dramatic limestone ravine with its cliffs towering above, we huffed up the trails, stopping for cheesy treats (obviously) and pretending we were proper explorers. The views were stunning, wind in our hair, kids scampering ahead like feral goats. Evenings back at the cottage were for simple pleasures: barbecues with slightly singed sausages, board games that descended into giggles and mild cheating accusations, and stargazing from the garden. Glastonbury’s mystical vibe called one day – we wandered the Tor, legends of King Arthur buzzing around us, feeling all spiritual (until the kids demanded ice creams).

Wells was a gentle contrast, its cathedral a jaw-dropper with that wonky clock and market square buzz. We mooched about, grabbing cream teas that were frankly indecent in their yumminess. Amid the fun, I had a quiet moment of self-reflection one evening, sitting with a cuppa as the sun dipped. Life’s been a whirlwind lately – work stresses, school runs – but here, surrounded by this unhurried Somerset charm, I realised how these scrappy family moments recharge the soul. No grand plans, just us, together. It’s the chaos of cottage life that makes it, really – spills, squabbles, and all. We left with sandy shoes, full bellies, and hearts brimming. Can’t wait to go back.